


Drift, Erst, Grist

by Seselt



Series: Aos sí [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seselt/pseuds/Seselt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpts from Hermione Granger-Nott's married life and adventures.</p><p>* addenda to 'Nihil est ab Omni Parte Beatum' *</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thierry and Hugo

Azkaban was dingy. Hermione thought she would have a more profound reaction to the stark grey monolith jutting from the howling sea. But she didn't. The entrance was crusted with salt that crunched underfoot and inside the smell of stale water almost masked the mustiness. She ached to Scourgify the place.

Judging from the expressions of her Auror escort, they agreed. Kingsley had insisted she didn't go alone. The guards in the wizarding prison were all human now but the centuries of despair had etched deeply into the edifice. The very new Minister of Magic had been extremely reluctant to allow her to go at all, even after the Ministry approved her application.

Security at the first gate waved them through after they surrendered their wands. They didn't need to go far, just to the first secure meeting room, but even that short journey left Hermione feeling grubby. Kingsley had been right about the aura of the place. He'd instituted a short duty rotation so none of the guards spent more than six months at a stretch in the prison and no one was barracked on-site.

Anyone who had been exposed to Dark Magic could feel the wrongness of the place. The Dementors' Cradle was the nickname given to Azkaban by the Muggle-borns who had been imprisoned there by the Registration Commission. It was a pity she didn't have clearance to speak with Dolores Umbridge, Hermione thought as she sat in the institutionally uncomfortable visitor's chair. It would be worth making a trip solely to stand before that horrid woman and skite.

Three guards brought Tristan Nott to the meeting room and secured him to the second chair, the only other piece of furniture in the room. He was shackled at wrist and ankle, with a magic dampening collar around his neck. Like all prisoners, he'd had his head shaved after one of the Death Eaters had hanged herself with her own long hair. He still looked proud.

When the guards and the Aurors left, Nott looked mildly interested. He watched her pull a scroll out of a small beaded bag, cross the room and show him the wax seal. The Nott crest. She broke the seal then put the parchment in his hand so he could read it while she returned to her chair. And covertly rubbed her back.

The silence continued as he carefully scanned the letter. It seemed genuine. He recognised his son's writing and his phrasing. Of course, Theodore could be under the Imperius Curse but Tristan had considerable experience with that Unforgivable. He would have to accept that his son had sent this missive, and the witch who delivered it, to him. For his approval, perhaps.

“Theodore is well?” The last time he had seen his son was on the eve of the final battle. Their trials had been separate and he had received no news since being imprisoned.

“He is.” Hermione confirmed. The guards were certainly eavesdropping. Kingsley had said the Aurors would give her privacy but if she were in his place, she would've found some discreet way to listen in. “We're doing our NEWTs by correspondence.”

“They are well?” Tristan asked the clever witch he had known until moments before solely as Potter's Mudblood. His son hadn't rabbited on. He'd given specific details, such as the document in the locked drawer in Tristan's private desk, and assured him it had been verified thoroughly. If Theodore was intent on obfuscation, he would abide.

“Yes. Lively too.” She stood again, bringing over to him a black and white printout and swapping it for the scroll. “It's a little grainy but you can see both of them. Healthy, and due the third week of January.” Hermione returned to her seat, putting Theo's letter back in her bag. “You can keep that picture. I had it cleared by the Aurors.”

“Because it is a Muggle thing.” The powers that be would think that nebulous image was a taunt, a scourge to remind him of what he would never have. But they were wrong. Tristan knew his son, knew how he would turn in on himself and seclude himself from the world. But he couldn't now. He had responsibilities.

“As am I.” Hermione pushed up her left sleeve. The modifications Theo had cut into the slur were healing far faster than Bellatrix's work. In a few months they'd be white scratches, like Umbridge's 'I will not break rules' on her right hand. Intent mattered. Just like this carefully choreographed conversation.

The interview she and Theo had given the Prophet would be published soon. Depending on the political blowback, there was no guarantee she would be allowed to visit Azkaban again any time soon. Kingsley had cautioned her to be scrupulous in her conduct during her interview, hence the dance back and forth between the chairs. No physical contact or sympathetic gestures.

“I know exactly what you are.” Tristan had only one godchild. He had married late; his school friends had sensibly chosen more settled guardians for their children. Bellatrix had wanted one of the Old Guard, and to convey a calculated message to his young wife about the duties expected of her. Karina had complied speedily. “Had matters been otherwise, my son would have married my god-daughter.”

“Theo did wonder who you would have picked for him.” She had too. If Nemesia had grown up with her biological parents or as a fosterling of the Malfoys, an arranged marriage with the heir of Nott would have been a good match. “You'll forgive me if I think this way is better.”

Tristan said nothing in reply to what would sound like a jibe to the eavesdroppers. There would be sneers later about his boy soiling himself with a Mudblood. The guards were scrupulous about avoiding physical castigation but they were not above taunts. He wouldn't bother correcting them. It was enough that he knew Theodore had done what was expected of him.

“You will sign these.” Hermione brought the sheaf of documents Theo had prepared and thrust a fountain pen into the Death Eater's hand. Writing with a quill while manacled was too difficult for the accurate signatures they needed. “I think Theo should have control of the Nott estate, don't you?”

He signed. He agreed, after all. Had he any inkling the Dark Lord would lose to an orphan boy he would have made arrangements for Theodore to become Head of the House. His signet ring had been taken from him so he couldn't add his seal but they'd thought of that and included soft wax for his thumbprint. And thus he abrogated his birthright.

Hermione took the parchments back once he had signed them, stowing them away in her beaded bag. If questioned, she would produce them for inspection but she didn't intend to volunteer. She sat wondering what she could ask that wouldn't cause comment or be awkward to explain if made public. Not much. She wasn't a natural politician. Tristan Nott fortunately was.

“You may tell my son the wheel of fate never ceases to turn. Magic blesses me with a long life. I will see him again.” Tristan added a touch of force to his words, to remind her that although the blood traitors and Mudbloods had won this war true wizarding values would persist.

Hermione called the interview to a close. The guards took her father-in-law away and brought her father. Rodolphus Lestrange had five wizards on watch, with the Aurors in the room too until he was fully restrained. Her wand was returned to her for this little chat as no one trusted the Death Eater to behave himself.

When they were alone, Hermione studied him. He was clean shaven like Tristan, with a tan line between cheek and chin where his beard had also been removed. His dark eyes stared unseeing, disconcertingly remote. She didn't wonder what he was thinking. She was sure she didn't want to know.

“Muffliato.” Hermione cast the spell. It wasn't well known so it wasn't explicitly forbidden within Azkaban. Probably would be next time. “I thought about keeping quiet. You certainly don't deserve any consideration from me. But this isn't about you.” She paused for breath. “I'm your daughter Nemesia.”

There was no reaction. Not a blink, not a twitch. Rodolphus sat unmoving, staring at nothing. Hermione had to admit she would've liked some response. Even shouting obscenities. But he'd spent fourteen years with Dementors. Whatever was left inside him possibly couldn't do more than drive his body around and keep it alive to hate.

“I don't expect you to believe me. Hell knows I didn't at first. But I'm on the Black Tapestry now and...” She stopped when he blinked.

“She's dead.” He said hoarsely.

“The people who took me used blood magic to hide me.” Hermione was not going to tell a fanatic who was responsible for the abduction of his only child. She didn't want him coming after Regulus and Andromeda. She wanted him to stay thoroughly locked up where he couldn't hurt anyone. “They Obliviated themselves so they couldn't reveal where I was.”

“She's dead.” He repeated, gaze still unfocussed.

“Do you want her to be?” The question was soft, accompanied by the thought that she could discard all her misgivings about being a Lestrange with a simple confirmation. Regulus wanted her to disavow her connection to her paternal relatives. Her sons would still have a claim once they were of age but until then this problem didn't have to exist.

Rodolphus continued to stare. Hermione said the words, sealing her oath with the tap of her wand. It was more a legalism than magic, the same as a statutory declaration for Muggles. She had to say it in front of him. He didn't have to acknowledge the statement. Which he didn't. Dropping the Muffliato, Hermione called for the guards.

She went home to the Longhouse. Theo had considered refurbishing various Nott properties but an extensive family history of Dark Magic had made nearly all of the homes he owned unsuitable. So he had built a new one, in the style of the longhouses of his Viking ancestors, in an oak grove. A clean, quiet place where they could both rest.

While their new home was much smaller than Nott Manor, Theo had indulged. Their bathroom reminded Hermione of an onsen, complete with heated granite stones. She slid into the bath to rid herself of the residual greasy uncleanness from the prison. Sitting shoulder deep in warm water, Hermione conjured bubbles, concentrating on getting the iridescence just right as a means of pushing all her other swirling thoughts aside.

When Theo ducked his head into the bathroom it was full of floating, shimmering filmy shapes. He poked one with a fingertip and it popped with a pleasant chiming note. Clearing his way to the soaking pool caused a tinkling symphony. Still in his cloak, he sat on the stone edge as his wife flicked her wand.

“Balloon animals are easy but when I try for something less cartoonish the surface tension starts fighting back.” Hermione informed him as an elaborate bubble shaped like Gryffindor Tower popped. “Colours are relatively simple. Corners not so much.”

“How did your meeting go?” Theo asked, interpreting from her careful explanation of the bubble experiment that her trip to Azkaban had been mentally taxing.

“Your father signed everything. I gave him the ultrasound picture. He seemed quite healthy. We exchanged sneers.” She sighed and levitated the beaded bag onto his lap. “He said fairly ominously that you would see each other again.”

“And Rodolphus?” He hadn't wanted his wife to visit her father. Lestrange hadn't been stable. From what he had heard of the man before his first stint in prison, he had been a fervent blood purist. His family had suffered during the Muggles' first and second world wars. Rodolphus had wanted to punish them and had found an able helpmate in Bellatrix.

“He said four words to me in total.” Hermione stabbed her wand into a large bubble. It burst with a trill. “Two words twice, to be exact. He took a lot of spell damage in the Battle. I don't think anyone is home.”

“And you feel guilty about that.” Theo ventured, dipping his hand in the water to catch a bubble on his palm. It stayed for a moment before popping with a 'ping' distinct in the silence.

“Yes.” She answered eventually. “I don't regret him being in prison. I'm relieved. He is a vicious murderer. But I felt like I was kicking him when he was down. Twisting the knife.” Hermione frowned, waving her wand to dispel all the floating shapes quietly. “I still did it. Renounced him. I doubt he even knew what I was talking about.”

“If the future had been otherwise and Death Eaters had won, Lestrange would have cut your throat on Tom's order. Even knowing you were his child wouldn't have stopped him.” The Lestranges' commitment to the Dark Lord had never wavered. Azkaban had annealed their loyalty not broken it. Theo was certain.

“So I should shrug and walk away, whistling merrily?” Hermione splashed angrily out of the tepid water, rinsing herself with a spell. Theo offered a hand to help her out of the bath then kept hold of it when she was standing secure.

“I can't tell you what to feel or what to not feel.” He kissed her softly. “I can say the life I want for our sons doesn't include Rodolphus Lestrange as their grandfather.” Theo handed her a bathrobe. “With which I expect you agree entirely.”

“Entirely.” She pulled on the robe, belting it high over her stomach and holding it closed with a Sticking Charm. “One of the drawbacks of not being a vicious bitch is I don't get off on hurting people.”

“For which I am thankful.” Theo smiled. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet. I was waiting for you.” Hermione padded out into the bedroom to wear another borrowed robe. She wasn't third trimester yet but she had expanded beyond the capacity of all her clothes except her yoga pants, and even they were more 'not falling off' than worn. “How was Henrik?”

“Patient.” He shed his cloak and jacket, loosening his tie. The meeting with his adoptive father had been formal. “Nyyrikki told the Varinens we had disappeared into the mists and would return in time.” In the privacy of his bedroom, Theo felt able to make the face he had wanted to make when he had first heard the Horned God's assurance. He had not been amused. “So they've been counting the days.”

“Did they reinstate your mother?” She asked, watching his expression closely. He looked composed. Matter-of-fact. Which answered her question before he did.

“Henrik meant to do so. He wrote his brother immediately after we left. Teuvo did not reply. He wrote again the year Mother would come of age, so she would have the option to choose the Covenant if she wished.” Theo's voice was even, uninflected. He was pleased to hear the smoothness of his tone.

“Your mum married when she was seventeen. The week after her birthday, I think you said.” Hermione kept her words bland, seeking confirmation before she got angry too.

“Teuvo rushed the match so she couldn't join the Covenant. He packed her off to my father as soon as legally possible.” His outrage leaked out in his sibilants. He stopped to breathe and regain his calm. “Henrik said he would have written to his niece directly when he heard she'd had a son, but by then Maaret was pregnant with a boy. The Varinens were furious at the idea Teuvo's child would be acknowledged. More than furious. Aksel had a heart attack and Maaret nearly miscarried.”

“So to keep the peace, he didn't write to your mum?” She asked and he nodded. “Did you tell him about the twins?” Theo shook his head, unwilling to risk speaking again until he was sure he wouldn't spit curses. “Right. Good.” Hermione took a breath and hugged her husband. “To Hell with them.”

“I love you, Sekhmet.” Theo murmured. The lion headed goddess of war and healing seemed a very good title for his fierce wife. She laughed, holding him closer.

“We'll be fine.” Hermione reassured. “We don't need them. We don't have to do a damn thing until the boys are adults.” She would pay her debts and present her sons to Nyyrikki so they could choose to join to Covenant. If neither opted for it then she would skip happily back to England, never to give it another thought.

“I'm still Henrik's heir.” He didn't want to ruin her ebullient mood but he couldn't disregard his mother's family completely. “Maaret's son is younger than I am. Her sister has a boy too. They're both of age, just.” Henrik had not seemed keen to push his nephews into the Covenant early. “I'm still next in line. Direct primogeniture.”

“Let's wish Henrik a long, healthy life, then.” She said with more determination than cheer. With Theo the heir, there was a bare minimum they would need to provide. As much as Hermione would prefer otherwise, that unfortunately would include notifying the Varinens about the birth of the twins.

When the time came, Theo sent the slowest owl he could find.

Hermione had already been comfortably ensconced in St Mungo's for two weeks when she went into labour on the 31st of December. Her Healer had recommended bed-rest once she reached thirty four weeks gestation as the twins were both active and large, and fast running out of room. Nott elves and Black elves competed to serve the young Mistress, much to her irritation.

“They hover.” Hermione complained to her mother when the midwife returned to cast yet more obstetric charms. She breathed in sharply as the pain briefly returned in full force when the matronly witch rubbed out the sigils on her belly before redrawing them. “How long until I can push?”

“Any moment now, Madam Nott.” The midwife used her best 'talking to the agitated' voice. While the pregnant witch was more inquisitive than fretful, and never stopped asking questions, she much preferred when her patients regarded childbirth as a sacred ritual rather than a Transfiguration class. “The Healer will be along once the monitoring spells have stabilised.”

“She reminds me of the nuns we had at school.” Margaret Granger remarked once the robed woman had whisked out of the room. “A great many non-answers meant to soothe away inconvenient curiosity.” She shifted in the comfortable chair beside the bed and held her daughter's hand. “What do those runes mean?”

The question was deliberately airy. It had taken weeks before Dr Granger could be in the same room as the young woman who had been her daughter without feeling a tsunami of resentment. Most of that was shock and the rest was unanswered questions. When Hermione had found out who had been responsible for the cruel substitution and brought the damnably unrepentant pair to see the Grangers, Margaret had made a decision.

She wasn't going to let those people take another child from her. Their daughter shouldn't have transported them like convicts to Australia. There had been words about that. But in doing so she had brought to light a truth that explained so many of the little worries and discrepancies she'd noticed. Things she had ascribed to her little girl being a witch had turned out to be otherwise.

William was still having a hard time rebuilding his reality. He had thrown himself back into the practice and spent long hours at the clinic. The other Dr Granger had come to visit Hermione only once since she had gone into hospital as the subtle wrongness of the place put him off. However, he had bought two baby-seats for their car and two cribs for the spare room for visits.

He had also had a long talk with the young man partly responsible for giving them grandchildren before they were fifty. Theo had been properly contrite and had assured his father-in-law of his love and respect for Hermione. Who had his complete support in continuing her studies. William had rather like the boy, despite everything. A serious, intellectual and above all stable partner for Hermione.

Not like the war heroes who were keeping secrets. Margaret had always tried to get along with Harry and Ronald but they weren't the sort of friends she had wanted for her only child. Always rushing about getting into trouble, never pausing to think and with no real plans for their lives. 

With Harry's shocking childhood it was excusable he didn't have structure. What sort of example had his aunt and uncle been? If the Grangers had known about the abuse they would have reported the Dursleys and made certain Harry was removed from their custody. But Ron had come from a loving home and he hadn't even gone back to finish school!

All thoughts of anything except pure joy were banished from Margaret Granger when her daughter brought her grandsons safely into the world. Thierry Rubeus Nott and Hugo Fawkes Nott loudly protested their eviction from their cosy if cramped home. Theo mopped sweat off his wife's face as she cradled their sons and thought this new future absolutely perfect.


	2. Rhys and Gwillem

Draco held the small, squirming, wriggling thing as though he expected it to explode. He was certain he was being tortured in some cunning way. Any moment, the creature would detonate and he would be left covered in disgusting ejecta. Last time it was tapioca.

"I don't see why I have to mind your spawn. You have house elves." He complained to Theo, who was similarly burdened with a fractious infant. Draco removed his tie from his godson's grasp before drool happened. For such a small creature, there seemed an endless supply of slobber.

"Harry and Ron are due any moment." Theo, more accustomed to holding his sons, shifted Thierry a little higher against his bicep. The not-quite six month old had been fed, burped, changed and dressed in a Muggle romper. He was momentarily content with the world though he did seem to want to chew on his own fingers. Thierry found hands fascinating.

"I see." Draco had seen Potter and Weasley's increasing interest in their friend's babies. He had noted repeated attempts to ingratiate themselves into the child-minding and providing roles. Potter had an excuse as he was Thierry's godfather but being a dutiful role-model was not his primary motive, in Draco's opinion.

It was subtle, he could give them that. The Gryffindors had been on their least irritating behaviour for months. Being seen to be there for Hermione. Ensuring she knew she had their support and care. Making certain the witch would feel secure coming to them for help the moment she realised she had been trapped and exploited by Theodore Nott.

"Andromeda mentioned how good Ronald was with the boys." Theo remarked, tickling the underside of his son's bare foot. Thierry was provided with socks and booties and dapper little shoes. He invariably kicked them off. Hermione had charmed all his footwear to return to his 'go' bag else they would've strewn England.

"What did your wife say?" It surprised Draco how easily he had adapted from Granger to Hermione. It galled him that while he still found her insufferable, he also enjoyed her company. He had rationalised it as his being starved for social contact. Better to be pathetically bored than a thundering hypocrite.

"She shrugged it off as being the product of a large family." Theo had broached the subject extremely tactfully with his witch, not wanting to help Potter and Weasley achieve their goal of driving a wedge between him and Hermione. He had been so diffident he wasn't sure himself if his wife understood the extent of his concerns. "I don't think she's given anything but her NEWTs much thought."

"Before my Astronomy practical, I dreamed I was juggling star charts. They turned into tea cups then flew away." Draco grimaced, an expression Hugo copied then started to cry. "No, no." He rocked the sobbing baby. "Happy Hugo. Happy little firebird." He cuddled his godson to reassure him, getting an earful of drool for his trouble. "Little wretch, you planned that."

"He always aims for the eyes when he's being changed." Hermione breezed into the room, adding another sticking charm to her hair. She'd fussed over it as she wanted to look reasonably formal. With her babies at the grabby stage, she couldn't wear jewelry and she wasn't going to mire herself in heels in the grass. "Do we have everything?"

Theo blinked. He had seen Hermione in dress robes before. She had looked lovely at the Yule Ball and ravishing in red. This gown was floor length, either mauve or lavender or lilac or whatever the pale purple colour was called and sleeveless. It floated around her, gathered just under her bust. Which certainly drew the eye. Abundantly.

"No baggy jumpers for the occasion?" Draco asked, snide because one did not ogle the wife of one's only friend. Not even if said friend was drooling like his sons.

"I own no tops without spit up stains." Hermione complained. She'd spent most of the last six months in leggings and t-shirts, with the aforementioned comfy jumpers as a back-up. "I was going to wear a suit but none of my blouses fit any more." She could've charmed one but she'd decided to dress up a little. "I need to invent a better Tergeo."

"You look lovely." Theo found his voice and rose to kiss his wife. "Not in Gryffindor colours?" He bit back delighted laugh when she covertly twitched the neckline of her dress to flash a bit of red and gold lace. "Alas, I wish you were in Slytherin green."

"Wait until you see my knickers." Hermione murmured, straightening his tie. Theo grinned briefly then his face fell into a more neutral expression as the Floo chimed. His witch turned and greeted her friends warmly, hugging them. Both Slytherins noted Potter's eyes didn't drop to Hermione's bountiful cleavage but Weasley's certainly did.

The Graduation Ceremony for the combined classes of 1998 and 1999 was sober and respectful. Headmistress McGonagall has asked each of the Golden Trio to give a speech. Ron had outright refused. Harry had spoken very briefly to congratulate everyone who had returned to Hogwarts. Hermione had poured all her experiences, triumphs and travails into a lengthy oration then had shown the hefty scroll to the audience with a smile. Some had groaned, most had laughed.

"I used a Time-Turner in my Third Year to take all the subjects I could. I wanted to learn everything." She smiled at her earnest younger self as she spoke off the cuff. "I didn't." Hermione looked over the ranked students, staff and families. "The most important lessons my years at Hogwarts taught me were there was always someone there for me, there was always something I didn't know and no matter how bad it seems, it will get better."

After the awards, the crowd dispersed to the buffet spread expansively across the lawn. Hermione joined her husband in a cluster of Slytherins, current and former, including Severus Snape newly released from a long convalescence in St Mungo's. She received courteous responses when she greeted them but remarkably more comment was made when she liberated Draco from his godson.

"Feeling clucky, Granger?" Daphne Greengrass inquired. She had returned to Hogwarts to finish her education and to fly the Slytherin flag. Her family had been neutral, not that it had mattered much to the other students. A green tie meant fair game for opprobrium.

"Somewhat." Hermione agreed, cuddling Hugo. "I'm going to show him off. I've already been asked three times why I did my NEWTs by correspondence." She kissed Theo on the cheek and ambled away, statement made. A fair portion of the crowd had seen the brief exchange. That ought to cut down the need to explain to anyone who had missed the lone article in the Prophet eight months ago.

The response to the interview had been so vituperative Theo and Hermione hadn't given another. Fortunately the reinstated Quidditch World Cup had driven the vitriol over their relationship out of the editorial column. Since then, Regulus Black had used his shares in the Daily Prophet to keep his cousin and her husband off the front page.

"Nott!" Daphne exclaimed sotto voce, watching the Gryffindor witch walk away with one of Theo's heirs. He hadn't introduced his wife to any of them, saying airily that she was about. Draco's possession of the second twin had prompted Miss Greengrass to speculate whether her classmates were a couple and merely using Granger as a beard. Malfoy certainly looked quite comfortable with the baby. And dating Parkinson was enough to put any bloke off witches.

"She is." Theo said blandly. Greengrass had sent a frosty reply to his attempt to reestablish communication. Her willingness to be seen in public with him now was more a mark of her family's social isolation. "Though Hermione insisted on graduating as a Granger. Her Muggle parents couldn't be here for the ceremony and she wished to honour them."

"Merlin's balls." Millicent Bulstrode remarked, craning her neck to watch the Gryffindor join a knot of her fellow Lions. They all seemed happy to see her. "Did your father try to chew his way out of Azkaban when he found out?" She felt the tension rise in the defensive group and shook her head, briefly baring the curse scar at the base of her neck got during the Carrows' reign over Hogwarts. "Oh, get over it. We can say the name of the damn place."

"Indeed, Miss Bulstrode." Severus directed an inquisitorial stare at Nott, who he knew had avoided Granger wherever possible during their schooling. Possibly the reasons had been more hormonal than political. He had not inquired, content to allow the boy to be quietly no trouble unlike Malfoy. "A marvelous reconciliation."

"Fortuitous, certainly." Theo replied as though he was unaware of his Head of House's dual allegiance during the war. Snape would have known far more of the personal relationships of the Phoenixes, assuming he had spare interest for anything except his own survival and revenge. "Hermione and I have grown quite fond of each other."

His statement was unadorned truth, which was possibly why most of his peers regarded him with skepticism. Draco's smirk did not aid the credulity. He could have shared his cousin's new status as Regulus's heir but he didn't feel any of them deserved to know. Since she had learned of their kinship, Granger, in spite of everything, in spite of spite, had treated him like family. Malfoys treasured family.

"Who is this babby?" Seamus, drunk on life and slightly tipsy on punch, grinned at Hermione then at her babe in arms. The sun was shining, he had graduated, he had a long life ahead of him that didn't involve exams and he hadn't seen any ghosts today. Any day where he wasn't reminded of the dead was a good day.

"His name is Hugo." Hermione introduced, waving her son's hand at her friend. Seamus waved back. As did Neville and Dean. Ritchie, Jimmy, and Demelza smiled conventionally. Romilda asked the question foremost on her mind as an aspiring journalist.

"So what's it like being Lady Nott?" She was agog to know all the details. There had been a morass of rumours, especially when Hermione's maiden name was on the assignment rosters. She'd asked Ginny but the redhead had glared at her and told her to mind her own business.

"Surprisingly dull." She had assumed the mantle of Lady of Manor when Tristan Nott acknowledged his grandsons. Theo still hadn't been able to visit his father, though he was at least on a waiting list for access. Hermione had been again, once in March, and had given her father-in-law a photograph of her family. Which had pointedly included her Muggle parents.

"Any trouble with people?" Romilda was avid. She had not been invited to study with the exclusive little group, though she knew many of the other Gryffindors had. They'd not told her anything other than Hermione had been hugely pregnant or that she and Nott were taking a phenomenal number of NEWTs.

"A few called me variations on 'traitor' or 'Death Eater whore' but that stopped once I challenged them to duels." Hermione smiled, viperine. Theo had been incandescent with fury but being on Probation was unable to do much to shield her from the insults. They hadn't gone out after she reached her third trimester so that had kept them from the public eye. Sensible, though it felt like they were hiding. "I named Harry as my champion. That shut people up very quickly."

"Anything for the witch who flew a dragon out of Gringotts." Harry had caught the tail end of the conversation as he approached followed by a floating tray laden with champagne flutes. As usual, he had been keeping an ear out for what Hermione was saying. He'd spent months carefully observing her. "Elf wine, anyone? I filched a supply so we can avoid the crush at the cocktail bar."

Evading crowds was a near compulsion for Harry. He didn't like feeling penned in and so many people wanted to congratulate him, thank him, lament with him or blame him that he couldn't think straight when they came at him all at once. Ginny was good at fending them off but hiding behind his fiancée wasn't how he wanted to live his life.

"Thank you, yes, I will." Hermione took a glass as the tray fluttered around the group. Harry and Neville raised one eyebrow each. The witch had eschewed all alcohol at the first anniversary celebrations. "I'm weaning the twins. I can have a drink or two in the afternoon." She explained as she sipped. The vintage tasted like a lazy summer in a vineyard. "This is very good."

"Ministry bought. Only the best plonk for them." Neville muttered. "Kingsley's here, which is fine, but so are half the Department Heads." Everyone wanted to have a war hero under their purview. "I've had owls offering me sinecure in six different Departments. I took the Auror offer from the DMLE just to keep the others off my back."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. She hadn't received nearly as many offers, but she didn't say so. Romilda liked to run her mouth. Airing her suspicions that she was being marginalised for being a mother, particularly a mother to a Death Eater's children, was something Hermione intended to do in private. Witches with children rarely worked outside the home.

"Let's sneak away before the politicking starts." Seamus suggested, downing his wine. He had gritted his way through the year but now he was done, he wanted to be shot of the place. "Hannah's put on a spread at the Three Broomsticks. She 'prenticed in the kitchen. We can skive off there."

The lure of Hufflepuff food and Hogsmeade nostalgia easily trumped self-consciously awkward conversation surrounded by too many memories. Hermione found Theo, still nested with the other Snakes, and made the invitation general. Draco was punctiliously expressionless, until she handed him Hugo as a means of saving face when Hermione belatedly recalled he would not be welcome by Rosmerta.

Theo was more than willing to use the babies as an excuse to avoid the other Gryffindors. He suffered watching his wife bustle off with the Weasleys, who had gone out of their way to include her in everything they did from jam making to French poetry readings. They had been polite, painfully, to him but he had got the message. Hermione was welcome. He was not.

Having showed her face at a public event, answered more personal questions than she liked and eaten more of Hannah's hand-made chocolates than she probably should, Hermione returned home. The elf wine, just two glasses, had left her pleasantly buzzed. She would be fine to give the twins their early morning feed. Theo had put Hugo and Thierry to bed after dinner so she and her husband had a convivial night.

Hermione woke with the alarm at three am feeling disgustingly ill, with aching breasts and a head both light and throbbing. She didn't think she had drunk nearly enough to be hungover. In between puking, she cast diagnostic charms on herself. They showed nothing, which was worrying as she had been on a regimen of nutrient potions. They should have shown up on the charms.

Theo brought her a mild pepper-up potion safe for nursing mothers, which came immediately back up after she drank it. Hermione tried some peppermint tea. When that returned too, she let Theo take her to St Mungo's, where she was told her body had been purged of all magical effects but was otherwise unharmed. Rest and fluids were advised.

They went home. Theo bottle fed the twins while Hermione dragged herself back to bed. The sudden and unexpected cleansing left her feeling drained but she had the vigour to write down everything she could recall from yesterday. Breakfast of fruit and yogurt. Elf made sandwiches for lunch. One glass of Ministerial wine, assorted canapés at the party along with another glass for toasting. 

Who had given her the second champagne flute? She looked over her notes. Ron had. Molly had got everyone together to raise their glasses to the graduates, of whom she was so proud. Hermione frowned. While it was possible she had forgotten she had eaten or drunk something, she didn't think it likely. Everything she'd had was either off a communal plate or she'd fetched herself. She wasn't so foolish as to take food or drink from a stranger.

When Harry, Ron and Nympadora arrived spontaneously at seven o'clock, Hermione had an inkling they'd done something. Theo tried to send them away but they barged past him into the bedroom, drawing their wands. A rapid cascade of nullification and liberation charms later and the tired witch glowed softly white.

"Bugger." Nymphadora stuffed her wand into the holster on her belt. "Well, that's awkward." She had been damn sure either Nott or Malfoy had been keeping Hermione quiescent. Too damn chummy with the Ferret and too damn cosy with the weedy bookworm. The Auror didn't trust either of them further than she could spit. "Hermione, if you're afraid for the babies, we can take you somewhere safe. Whatever it is, you'll be alright."

"You thought I was being magically controlled?" Hermione asked slowly. The trio shifted uncomfortably.

"Remus thought you smelled off." The Metamorphmagus spoke quickly. "He couldn't really tell when you were pregnant and you kept to yourself, which was fair enough given how big you were, but when you had the twins, he still smelled something not quite right."

"And he didn't mention this to me why?" She asked, sitting up and waiting for all the data before she kicked them out of her house.

"The Notts have been Dark Wizards since Slytherin's time. We couldn't trust him not to be the cause. Malfoy's been hanging around like a bad smell too." Nymphadora was prepared to acknowledge with her cousin solely because Regulus had reinstated her mother. "We've been dropping hints for months but you never reacted."

"I am quite happy here." Hermione snapped. "I finally have some peace and quiet." Relatively speaking, when Thierry and Hugo were asleep. But a year of study uninterrupted by murder or mayhem had been blissful.

"This isn't you." Ron protested. "You wanted to do things. Get into the Ministry. Maybe some Muggle study. All sorts of stuff. You were always arguing with Sirius about him laying about." He wound down a little. "I don't know, 'Mione. You're just different and it bothers us."

"You don't know her." Theo intruded at this point, having tamped down his response until he would look sensible. Lashing out at the encroaching bastards who had tried to steal his witch away would make him look unstable. "My Hermione isn't your Hermione. Subconsciously, you feel the difference. I've noticed things being askew. The time travel dissonance has lingered."

"That's a very convenient excuse." Harry had tried to confirm what Hermione had told him about her trip. He hadn't found much. Regulus Black wasn't sharing, his relationship with Snape was still awkward, the Varinens hadn't returned any of his letters, and time magic research was so Restricted even he couldn't get permission.

"It isn't an excuse." Hermione defended her husband from the tacit accusation. "We've tried to track the resonances and it's amazingly complicated. We did our final year project for Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Ancient Studies and Charms on it. And we had to submit all our documentation to the Unspeakables for clearance before we could have anything assessed."

"We don't want you chained to a Death Eater." Nymphadora saw the boys dancing around the issue and jumped in boots first. "That's the long, short and ugly of it. There's something squiffy about him, you're not bound until death and you won't be alone if you leave."

"And if I stay?" She asked, telling herself her friends were acting this way because they were genuinely worried for her. Not because they were meddlesome idiots who didn't trust her to make her own choices.

"This isn't a 'him or us' choice." Harry hastened to say, before Nott stuck his oar in and made them look worse. "Of course we'll respect your decision. We just wanted you to be able to make it without undue influence. The nullifying potion would've rid you of any alchemical or pharmaceutical substance and the charms would've broken any Imperius or coercive curse."

"Theo and I are under a geas." Hermione explained slowly. "We made a promise to the Horned God who sent us through time. That could be why we smell off. Or it could be a temporal effect." She shook her head. "Why didn't you do something after I had the twins? It's been almost six months."

"You were nursing. Anything you drank would go into the babies. The nullifying potion has quite a kick." Nymphadora had chugged a few in her time after missions. She wasn't surprised to see Hermione in bed. "You told Harry you were weaning so we thought we could risk it. The longer you were under the effect of whatever it was, the more difficult it would be to break."

"And now what do you intend to do without my knowledge or consent?" She demanded acidly. "I'll tell you." Hermione interrupted when Ron began to start a conciliatory grin. "You are going to apologise to Theo for essentially calling him a rapist and then you will all leave. Because while I appreciate your concern, I am pissed off with you." Taking a breath, she reined in her glare. "I'll be at the Burrow for Sunday brunch. So will my husband."

Later in the quiet, Theo kissed Hermione slowly and hotly, showing her all his relief and jealousy and smug satisfaction that she had defend him. They had a quickie, which wasn't romantic but the babies were due for another feed and protested loudly if they missed breakfast. It was another serve of formula as Hermione didn't want to risk breastfeeding with the potion still in her system. Weaning was happening a bit faster than she'd planned.

Which was just as well as she discovered she was pregnant two weeks later.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the Mediwitch she had been seeing regularly for post-natal check-ups. Not usually one for making jokes, the matron didn't seem to be kidding now. Noticing her patient's lack of reaction, the witch cast a more complicated diagnostic charm to check Hermione's blood chemistry.

The results looked like a disk of mother of pearl, with shimmering colours the intensity of which conveyed to the trained eye levels of iron, calcium and other elements. There was a bright pink ring around the edge of the circle, which indicated the presence of the various pregnancy hormones.

"I haven't had my period yet." Hermione had expected her cycle would be irregular while she was weaning, that was normal, but she had planned to resume contraception as soon as the Mediwitch had given her clearance to do so.

"The first ovulation after birth can take woman by surprise. So much is going on in your body it's often difficult to anticipate." The matron told her what she had told many surprised witches over the years. "I must say that it's very early days yet and it's quite possible nothing will come of it." Years of being tactful to pure-blood witches had given her a stock of anodyne phrases. "Might be best to keep this to yourself for a few weeks. No sense getting everyone's hopes up."

Hermione shared the news with Theo because they were partners. He agreed with the Mediwitch, as 'disappointments' were frequent. She started taking the mild contraceptive potion meant to lead into the regular, stronger preventative. If the pregnancy wasn't just a hormonal blip, the transition potion wouldn't do any harm and if it was a false alarm, the potion would stop any further surprises.

Theo accompanied his wife to her subsequent appointment a fortnight later. Hermione had spent the gap catching up on things she had let fall by the wayside during final prep for exams. He had spent the fourteen days alternately wondering whether the nullification potion had caused this, whether it had been blind chance or if Nyyrikki had interfered somehow.

They had a symbolic dinner of venison to celebrate the news Hermione was carrying twin boys. Again. Then they had a very serious discussion about their options and plans for the future. Given the realities of high miscarriage rates among pure-bloods, even among healthy young witches, they decided to keep silent until Hermione was out of the first trimester. By which time her pregnancy would be obvious.

The first people they told were the Grangers, who were simultaneously delighted and disappointed. They were partially mollified by the news Hermione would be starting an Ancient Runes Mastership with a noted scholar at the Euro-Glyph School of Extraordinary Languages.

The second announcement was done at the Burrow to the assembled Weasleys and  
proxy Weasleys. Reactions were more enthusiastic, which Arthur going so far as to shake Theo's hand. Molly immediately started planning a baby shower. Harry and Ron offered their congratulations after an exchange of pensive looks that Hermione noticed. They argued off and on throughout most of the pregnancy, reconciling when Ginny brokered a truce so Hermione could be her bridesmaid for her wedding to Harry.

Rhys Alastor and Gwillem Filius Nott arrived suddenly on Imbolc, early but healthy, helped into the world by Neville and Luna Longbottom in the kitchen of the Longhouse. Theo returned home with the croissants his wife had been craving to the news of the safe advent of his sons and immediately asked the impromptu midwives to be godparents to the newborns.


	3. Alasdair and Sean

Harry was used to Hermione and her husband doing odd things around the Longhouse. They'd expanded it lengthwise, tacking on one room after another as their needs grew. Last time, Theo had been knocking out a wall to add a playroom. This time for some reason Hermione was removing the larch cladding, pulling out nails, replacing them with other nails then returning the silvered wood to is accustomed place.

He strolled up the gravel path winding through the oaks, his approach audible. The witch waved and the little boy who had been sitting at her feet scrambled upright to launch himself at Harry.

"Uncle!" Rhys impacted at knee height then raised his arms to be picked up.

"Hey there." Harry hoisted the two and a half year old, carrying him back to Hermione. "Are you helping your mum?"

"No!" The toddler said, nodding. "Nails wrong."

"No?" The Auror asked, raising an eyebrow. Rhys again nodded.

"New favourite word." Hermione explained. "Gwill too." Her younger twins knew what the word meant but only selectively applied it. They could 'no' to any parental request but were far more lenient in forgetting when the 'no' came from Mummy or Daddy. "Hugo and Thierry taught them, much to my delight."

"Nails wrong?" He pulled a snitch out of his pocket and gave it to Rhys, who promptly began shaking it up and down to see if he could make the wings fall off. The little boy was marvellously easy to entertain if he had something he could break.

"We're replacing all the steel exterior fixtures with cold iron." She held up a hand-wrought nail with a smoothly tapered head. "We found a Master from the Worshipful Company of Blacksmiths who's prepared to make a truly stupendous amount of ironmongery with minimal questions."

"Is it working?" Harry wouldn't call his friend obsessed just thorough. Very very thorough.

"I'm not pregnant and Adrian fainted when he tried to cross the threshold." Hermione smiled grimly. She had nothing against Pucey, who had gamely volunteered to be their guinea pig in exchange for being able to use Nott Manor to host his wedding. While a pure-blood family now, the Puceys had fled France in the seventeenth century with their Huguenot Muggle relatives. Of which the older families were happy to remind them.

"Adrian?" He had been cynically amused at how quickly certain sections of wizarding society had embraced his friend. At the launch of the translated Tales of Beedle the Bard, the crowd had spilled out into the street. Being seen with Hermione was the most accessible way for Slytherins to rehabilitate their public images and for anyone who had remained neutral during the war to make a political statement.

"Adrian Pucey." She clarified laconically, stepping back to see whether she'd put the boards on straight.

"Oh, yeah, he's reasonable." Harry had no problem with the former Chaser. He noticed Hermione's smile. "What?"

"Adrian's mother used a fairy charm to conceive him. He's quite fey, including an astounding aura of general amiability. We tested it. Did a poll." Hermione explained to her best friend's increasingly suspicious frown. "Pretty much anyone he has ever met likes him. Not raving Amortentia desire. Just a fond inclination towards him."

"Does that happen often?" He had saved the magical world but he didn't understand great chunks of it. Being raised by the Dursleys had cut him off from more than his parents. For good or ill, there was a whole culture of which he was a part yet not.

"There are fashions." She made a mental precis, a skill she was honing in her work as a consultant for the Ministry. "At the time of the founding of Hogwarts, green magic was routine at conceptions and births. It fell out of favour after the Great Famine of 1315-17. That was caused by a series of fratricidal conflicts between covens aligned with the Unseelie Court. So the general populace avoided it for several centuries until the Statue of Secrecy, when any magic, particularly old magic, was revered."

"I see where this is going." Harry hadn't entirely slept through History of Magic class. "Dusty old grimoires with poorly translated spells that get turned into charms by desperate people."

"After Grindelwald, blood magic was right out so there was a revival in green magic particularly for fertility spells. Happy house elves can't be a threat, right? Seasonal rituals and nature rites are traditional so they were used with merry abandon." Hermione was sour in spite of herself. "Same thing happened after Tom's first war. Pure-bloods desperate for heirs will try literally anything. Adrian's mother was sixty-two when she had him, which is old even for witches."

"Is that what's wrong with you?" The question was out before he could censor himself.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Harry." Her tone was astringent. Four children in thirteen months wasn't a sickness. It might cause mental illness from sleep deprivation but thankfully her boys were all quiet through the night now. And nap-time was sublime. "But yes, we believe it's the same effect. Hence the cold iron. Theo's working on a wards we can imbue into organics to bolster the protective effects of St John's Wort and marsh marigold."

"That's why I'm here, actually. Not that I don't enjoy seeing my nephews." Harry said this to Rhys, who was now chewing on the snitch. His tendency to put anything interesting in his mouth was why the red berries, another defense against fey, never lasted very long. "Kingsley would like to talk to you. Privately." He met her steady gaze. "Very privately."

"Is he willing to come here?" She was inexpressibly fortunate to have house elves and a wealthy husband to help her with childcare. However, going anywhere now took significant logistics unless she left the boys at home. With the two of them, they could just about manage to keep an eye on everyone but no one could do it alone. Every defense they put in place against malign fey influence also curtailed the magic of the house elves. The Notts didn't get out much.

"Not with your husband present." He couldn't say it more diffidently. Kingsley hadn't explained beyond needing Hermione's input without her former Death Eater spouse. Harry made a placating gesture. "It isn't personal. It's a holdover from the war. I don't know any more than that."

The witch gave him a dirty look but went inside to speak with Theo. She was gone long enough for Rhys to snap a wing off the training snitch and look triumphant. Harry asked him in all seriousness whether he thought that was a good thing for him to have done.

"No!" Rhys answered promptly and tried to stick the broken wing up his nose. Auror Potter intervened hastily. He had been spending a lot of time with his godson Teddy Lupin so he understood how heedless small children could be of their own safety. Thwarted, Rhys burst into angry, grizzling tears.

Hermione, flanked by Theo, Thierry, Hugo, Gwillem, and two elves, came to his rescue and took Rhys from him to soothe. Harry had a chocolate box moment of sentimentality at sight of his friend's family. The Notts had similar colouring so their sons looked very alike; quiet little faces with dark eyes and hair in shades of brown from umber to chocolate.

"If Kingsley wants somewhere unremarkable, we can meet at my parents' house. They're on holiday in the Netherlands." Her tone suggested she made no promises. The bonds between the Order of the Phoenix members remained strong in peacetime. She would listen. She would not feign enthusiasm.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Order of Merlin First Class, Minister of Magic, Head of the House of Shacklebolt and several more titles he needed to look up to remember, took his tea with milk and one sugar. He sipped in between speaking to give his audience time to digest all he said. And there was a great deal to say, little of it good.

Hermione took notes as her comrade-in-arms outlined the findings of the extremely clandestine survey he'd instructed the Department of Mysteries to undertake into the state of magical Britain. She didn't have clearance to read the report and the Unspeakables were sworn to secrecy but as Minister, he was not bound by the same vows.

There had been reports of strange phenomena. Most were dismissed as exaggerations or pub tales. It had to be admitted that in any magical population there was a certain percent of crazy, more so than in a Muggle group of equivalent size. Kingsley initially had not thought much of the stories. There was so much else to do. Two wars had crippled the economy and the rolls of the missing never seemed to shrink.

But when a senior Auror, a man not given to flights of fancy and recently cleared by St Mungo's as psychologically fit, had assured him that he had personally witnessed a stone circle dancing, Kingsley had gone to the Unspeakables.

"So much magic, so much death and the ritual invocations the Death Eaters used in their Revels, released in such a short time has weakened the walls between worlds." He paused to take a gulp of tea. "They couldn't say if it was irrevocable or localised or much of anything definitive." The Minister frowned, the expression set into deepening lines in his face. "I have everyone we can spare from the Department of Mysteries on it, but we lost a lot of people. Voldemort wanted information and under Thicknesse, he got access to the roster of Unspeakables."

"I'm not going to keep this a secret from Theo." Hermione said before Kingsley could ask for her help. "I would presume you're telling me this because of my experience with the Horned God and the time travel." Her statement got a crisp nod of assent. "Theo was there too, and he has a far better understanding of the machinations of the Death Eaters than I do."

"He's still on Probation." He'd known he would have to do some horse trading. Harry had been the same. The Golden Trio wanted peace. They felt very strongly that they'd done their bit.

"Which you will lift in exchange for me being a lab rat." She insisted. Hermione wasn't going to refuse to help, both of them knew that, but she wasn't going to volunteer. "I have four kids under four and each month every Episkey and Tergeo he casts my husband has to justify to an officious git."

"I don't want you to be a lab rat, Hermione." Kingsley spoke calmly, using the tone of voice that had served well during tense Order meetings. Even, confident and inclusive. They were all in this together and they would overcome. "I want you to go to the Varinens to speak with their fey. We need you to ask him if the holts are opening."

"You are fucking joking." Hermione's inner nanny was as outraged as the rest of her so the little voice didn't scold her for the obscenity. "We've done everything we can to avoid futher contamination with green magic. The bloody gravel on our paths is iron oxide. We've buried anvils under our threshold. Our house has more horseshoes than Cheltenham!"

"At least a dozen trods are suspected to have awakened. They've been sealed since before the founding of Hogwarts. All across the country, ley lines are twanging. Muggles sightings of magical creatures are at high not seen since the Plague years." Keeping that quiet had involved the active participation of every Obliviator on staff and special detachments of Mi5 and Scotland Yard. "We barely kept a lid on it during the war. It's only a matter of time until we have a serious leak. If there's an incursion from the Other Side, we will not be able to contain it."

"I want a copy of the report. I'm not going anywhere near Finland without hard data." Her mouth tightened into a grimace. "I'm not going to ask to be put on the DoM's books and I understand why you're reluctant to involve my husband, but this is our life, Kingsley. We've been mucked around enough by that horned arse. Asking him nicely isn't going to happen. He'll want something in exchange."

"The Ministry is prepared to negotiate." Kingsley kept a diplomatic expression in the face of her derisive snort.

"Nyyrikki won't want anything from you." She rubbed her left wrist, where she wore a rune inscribed cold-wrought iron bracelet. Theo wore a matching one and they had diligently enchanted it with every defense against mental coercion and illusion they could find.

"No." The Minister reluctantly agreed. "I'm sorry. There's no one else I trust to ask. You're in an ideal position to get information directly from someone who would know."

"He might not. He's bound to land a thousand miles away. The resonance isn't likely to have traveled that far." The magical schools around the globe were positioned to absorb surge peaks in the ley lines, originally to maintain their concealment spells but latterly to damp down magical outbreaks. "Fey don't gossip, as a rule. Knowledge is currency."

Hermione was reminded of that adage when she and Theo visited Hogwarts. The school was a bank and font of gnosis. A wellspring that was leaking. Headmistress McGonagall readily gave them permission to inspect Black Lake. Kingsley hadn't spoken to her but she had taught at Hogwarts for almost fifty years. She could feel the quickened pulse of the castle and she was worried.

"The readings are definitely up." Theo paced through the water, consulting the notes they had made when they had returned from their temporal jaunt. "Up from 1998, after the discharge, and from the ambient we took in 1976."

"We submitted our workings to the Department so they'd have factored the rise into their Arithmancy." Hermione mused, her eyes on a luopan. Their debriefing by the Unspeakables had been tediously thorough. Samples, reports, interviews ad nauseam. She didn't think the Department bods had been slack. She wanted to see for herself, to get a feel for the disturbances. "The problem here is the residual energy from the Battle."

"We're about seven hundred miles from Beauxbatons as the Abraxan flies." He carefully orientated himself south and took another reading. "Both schools draw magic towards them. If we go to the rough midpoint between, we can poke about there and run the same tests." Theo adjusted the crystal lens he wore over one eye. "The aether is so congested here I can't see any of the leys."

"So now we jump three hundred something miles vaguely south-south-west." She sounded snappish to her own ears. "I didn't mean to bite your head off." Hermione splashed over to her husband and kissed him in apology. "I really, really don't want to go to the Varinens."

"The same." Theo stuffed his wand up his sleeve to have a hand free to take one of hers. "Probation isn't so bad. I've only got six years to go. It'll be done in plenty of time to tutor Thierry and Hugo before they go to Hogwarts. That's the only thing I'm fussed about not being able to do. Tell Shaklebolt to find another messenger girl."

"We can't." Hermione said on a sigh after an unflatteringly long moment of consideration. She was tempted. Telling the Ministry to bugger off had considerable allure. "Kingsley wouldn't have asked unless he was worried. He isn't a bureaucrat. This isn't a storm in a teacup."

"Then I'll go. I'm part of the covenant. You're not. There's no need to drag you into another bargain with Nyyrikki." He offered. All their extensive slightly anxious research into fairykind had left them bitterly aware their deal would inevitably benefit the Horned God more than it did them. It had also engendered a reluctant sympathy for Theo's grandfather Teuvo. He was selfish but he had saved his daughter from the covenant.

"We're partners." There would be no negotiation on that aspect. "We're both going. We'll agree some terms in case he asks for favours, and get some clarification on our previous agreement." Hermione had initially thought their accord with the fey personage to have been resolved. They would present their sons to him until one agreed to join the covenant. However lately she'd had some unquiet dreams.

She and Theo had Pensieved their memories of their time within the Mists when their recollections had begun to become hazy. Unfortunately, the degradation was not a result of their own distracted thoughts. Contact with fey magic left whimiscal, often nonsensical impressions as an after-effect. Not quite a curse. A very effective security measure though. When they realised they had been made to forget, they'd begun their defensive campaign.

The Notts went far enough from Hogwarts to consult their newest bit of tech. A GPS device was amazingly handy for Apparition. It needed to be shielded from magic, which was easily done by putting it in a lead lined box. The gadget couldn't be shrunk but they were both accustomed to toting satchels so they had simply continued the habit from their school days. Plus, with four kids they needed to haul about an astounding amount of kit.

The GPS informed them that Bedford was approximately equidistant from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons so they Apparated to the banks of the River Great Ouse. They set up a few charms to take measurements then sat on a bench in a nice little park drinking juice boxes. Hermione dug a banana out of her bag when Theo expressed himself peckish. No one gave them a second look.

The results were not as banal as the setting. Even factoring in the suppressive effect of Muggle industry on ambient magic, the readings were much higher than they ought to be. Nor was it likely to be a localised effect as there had been no major battles in the vicinity in either of the recent wizarding wars. There had been some fighting in Norman times, the trace of which would have long ago dissipated.

"We could take more measurements. The DoM report wasn't exhaustive." Theo fiddled with his crystal lens. There was a sluggish ley winding along the course of the Ouse, one of many rivers of that name, which intersected with another more jangling line from the remnant of a Saxon era magical settlement.

"I think we have to give the Unspeakables the benefit of the doubt. There is a lot of magic sloshing about. More than is safe." Hermione bit her lip. Kingsley hadn't wanted to cause widespread alarm by publishing the report. She disagreed with that stance, though she had to concede that it wasn't her call to make. "Would your father know if his lot did anything more than usually destructive?"

"Unlikely." He thought about it then shook his head. "The sort of ritual magic necessary to create this disturbance all in one go would've been enough to level the Ministry. Tom wouldn't have mucked about with prophecies and horcruxes if he'd had that kind of power." No, this was cumulative excess mixed with rage and rampant stupidity. "Idra might know. She worked with old grimoires. I doubt we'll get permission to speak with her though."

"Kingsley asked Professor Snape. He couldn't add anything to the report. Tom didn't tell him of any super secret doomsday project." She sipped the last of her juice then flattened the box with more vigor than necessary.

"You want Ragnarok rather than endemic foolish wand waving?" Theo asked mildly.

"Of course not." Her answer was more acid than plaintive. "I just want this to be someone else's problem, and for my conscience to stop poking me." She threw the juice box at the rubbish bin then got up to pick it up when she missed. "Narcissa will mind the boys for us. She's been asking to have them over. I think she's trying to convince Draco he wants to settle down."

"Having our lot descend upon him is more likely to prompt him to swear lifelong chastity." He chuckled softly. Theo loved his sons but he was a realist. "Which would rather disappoint Astoria."

"I like her. I think she's good for him." Hermione returned to the bench, scooching over to her husband. "Should I drop hints about marital bliss and the untrammeled joy of the connubial state?" She smirked. "I'm his cousin. I can even play the 'for the good of the family' card."

"He'll probably respond by saying he can adopt one of our sons, obviating the need for him to get married at all." Theo put an arm around her an addressed the issue neither of them had mentioned. "We may come back from Finland pregnant."

"Between the dreams and the libido upswing, we hardly need a dose of undiluted fairy charm." She grimaced. They both took contraceptive potions, and they used a spell and Muggle barriers. Four kids were also quite an effective anaphrodisiac. Nevertheless, this last spring season had been knickers-on-fire. They'd been diligent over the equinox, sating themselves with oral sex only. "Sooner or later we'll make a mistake."

"We could use it as a bargaining chip. I could threaten to have that Muggle operation." He wasn't keen to sterilise himself but neither was he the one carrying the babies. "I have excellent self-control, except when I'm around you. Which bothers me not at all."

"Lord give me chastity and continence, but not yet." Hermione quoted Augustine of Hippo, resting her head against his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind a little girl. If we started her now, Gwillem and Rhys would be three and a bit. That's not a bad gap."

"What if we have two boys again?" Theo spoke as though probing a wound, gently expecting a flinch.

"It's not the end of the world." It wasn't what she would've chosen, there was no doubt about that. "We've got a lovely home, our health and more than enough income. We are phenomenally fortunate. We could've been stuck in the past having to live through two wars. This is better."

"That is a mature and well-reasoned response." He concurred then caught her eye. "So we'll be repeating that to ourselves until we believe it, right?"

"Either that or we throw a massive wobbly and smash things in a fit of temper." Being a responsible adult had knobs on. Hermione made a face at the blameless river. "I don't think Kingsley would frog-march us to the Varinens to demand answers but he is in a position to make his displeasure well known. If we go quietly, we'll be at an advantage."

Reminding herself of the strategic benefits of being obliging to the Minister of Magic got Hermione through the rest of the week. She arranged for Narcissa to host the boys with visits from Andromeda and Teddy to entertain them. The young Notts promised to be good for Aunty Cissy, which their parents chose to believe. An International Portkey took them to Lapeenranta then a short Apparition brought them to the gates of the Varinen castle.

They were met in the traditional way by Safina still birch tree straight despite reaching her century four years before. The Notts had missed the celebrations while waiting out the time-loop in France and Theo had refused any acknowledgement thereafter. He was unwilling for forgive the family for abandoning his mother.

Theo requested admittance to the Varinenlinna, which the chatelaine granted. Two of the many female cousins were there with mead and karjalanpiirakka. Hermione guessed the two young women had been born in the interval between her visits though it was difficult to tell with their stony expressions. The return of the erstwhile Orpheus was clearly not a source of delight to his kin.

Henrik Varinen looked as austere as he had in 1976 with grey lightening his sandy brown hair to blonde without leavening his demeanour. Theo had sent an owl politely requesting a meeting with Nyyrikki. As a member of the covenant, he could have gone to the sacred grove without the permission of his Head of House. He had considered it then opted for honey versus vinegar.

"We have prepared the offerings. You are unlikely to recieve more than a sign. Nyyrikki has been more communicative since the restoration of the Covenant. He still prefers to speak through the animals however." Henrik spoke in English as neither Nott had been able to spare the time to learn Finnish. 

The language was on Hermione's To Do List as there were many runic texts that were untranslatable without an understanding of the original dialect. Not least because prior to the Middle Ages Finnish was an oral language and Finnish-speaking wizards and witches used a haphazard system of futhark plus the old standby of making things up as they went along.

Despite Shaklebolt's expectations to the contrary, Theo didn't expect much clarity from the Horned God. They cleansed themselves and took the offerings to the clearing with Henrik as a guide. The runestones showed the remnants of the flowers and fruit left from the solstice celebrations. Garlands rotted quietly in the undergrowth, squishing underfoot.

She might be unshod but at least she had her pants this time, Hermione thought grimly as Henrik left them. The glade looked deceptively ordinary though the background hum of magic was a teasing promise. Theo anointed the stones while his witch lit herb infused candles, while both tried not to notice so keenly that they had left their iron bracelets behind at the castle. That metal had no place in the grove.

Nothing happened for long enough for them to become restive. They transfigured themselves into their Animagus forms. The two foxes nosed about. So many smells. The vixen investigated the candles while the tod sniffed the grass and wondered about the strange lightning crackle scent. He yipped a warning when the mist rose, dashing back to his mate. She was growling at something in the fog.

Theo and Hermione fought to change back into their human forms. The transformation was slow and painful as though they had forgotten what they should look like, lost themselves in the silvery mist. They cried and moaned as their bodies twisted, the transition more like a werewolf's curse than a magical transfiguration. When it was done, Hermione and Theo lay on the greensward sweating and panting, aware belatedly of a presence.

The Horned God was tall, towering over them lean and sinuous, crowned with antlers. His dark eyes were lit with motes like stars and the paint on his chest glistened like blood. He had a spear in his hand decorated with bones, feathers and beads, something he had been missing when they had first met. His power had returned.

"You did promise." Nyyrikki reminded them in a voice like smoked honey. "A simple vow to me, unbreakable."

"Our sons aren't old enough to join the covenant." Theo panted, the nine-pointed star on his chest vivid and pulsing. Normally it was pale, easily mistaken for a tattoo. He barely noticed it most days, the mark drifting out of his mind far, far more easily than the Mark on his arm.

"Foolish boy." The Horned God laughed like a river over rocks. He crouched, the muscles in his long legs cording. Hermione looked away, an unwanted flush warming her. "You should have been more cautious, my wand-foxes. You are clever but not so much with words. You promised, but you didn't say what you promised."

"Arsehole." Hermione gritted her teeth. Everything ached. Her hair throbbed. When Nyyrikki regarded her with a summer hot gaze, she glared. He grinned and ran a hand up her leg in a smug caress. The wave of lust longing that surged through her at his touch had her eyes rolling back but when he took his hand away, she snarled at him as though still a fox. An angry vixen defending her den.

"You are his, yes, I know, little witch." The fey spirit made a show of blowing on his fingers, freeing her scent on his skin to the breeze. "But he is mine." Nyyrikki grinned, his teeth flashing. "There is more yet for the two of you to do for me. All those that would have been. Their souls cannot return to the cycle. I drew them out of the mist, ready as gifts for the covenant."

"There are other heirs." Theo made to sit up and got as far as his elbows. His spine felt twisted, his head too heavy for his vertebrae. "The Varinen witches have had sons."

"The witches of the covenant have not sent any of their daughters to me since you made your oath. They do not wish their girls to live as they do." His tone suggested no rancour. The Varinens had sustained him dutifully while they all struggled for an heir. "The family here has three male children, a hopeful future, but they are careful after Teuvo. They have said they want to give the boys time to be certain. To come to me of their own accord."

"And the souls can't wait?" She didn't think he was lying. Fey did, of course, but only obliquely.

"They have waited far longer than need be." Nyyrikki's eyes darkened to pits, his face shadowing until the bones beneath showed stark and skull-like. "Nothing should be outside the seasons for so long. It is past time for them to be sown."

"How many?" Theo asked.

"Nine, for the star. I wished to be generous with Teuvo's generation. There would have been peace for them and good harvests." Venom dripped from his words. He would never forget the betrayal and forgiveness was not in his nature.

"We have four, do they count towards the nine?" Hermione asked when her husband went quiet. He was thinking of sparing her, of finding some way to bring the souls into the world without her having to carry them. At Nyyrikki's nod, she took a deep breath. "Right, five more we can do. But at our own pace. You have no idea, and I mean that very literally, what it's like to carry a child. Pregnancy isn't any part of your domain."

"Hermione!" Theo protested.

"It's alright. Properly spaced, we can manage more kids." She reassured before turning to the Horned God. "But Britain isn't safe right now. Too much magic. The leys and wards are splitting at the seams. We won't bring any more children into the world until that situation is resolved. We'll spend our days in suits of armour and our nights locked in separate cells if that's what it takes."

"Such strength of will." Nyyrikki raised a hand when Hermione opened her mouth to assert she was serious. "I can feel your commitment, woman. I know you would do it." He contemplated them for a long moment then stretched, rising to his feet. "What comes from wands can return to wands. This magic isn't from the earth or the stars. It wants a home. Give it one."

The Horned God left before the echo of his words faded. Slowly, Theo and Hermione got to their feet, unsure and aching. They trudged back to the Varinenlinna to rest, sleeping away the day then through the night. In the morning they made love and afterwards lay side by side mulling over what they had been told.

"There isn't a primary school for magical children." Hermione observed, after considering and discarding a wand factory or smithy. Crafting magical items was a bespoke industry. You couldn't scale up production without losing potency. "It could act as a battery, storing the excess energy. Better that than some Ministry folly or overly complex working. I just know someone is going to suggest weather magic to burn off the flux."

"Someone might have tried that already. The floods, you know." Theo sought for and found her hand under the covers. "We'll report to the Minister. He would be a fool not to consider your suggestion."

"Kingsley has to deal with the Ministry. They will never run short of pompous idiocy." She turned to lean against her husband, settling into the crook of his arm. "We've done our part, and if they stall on a plan we can start a school of our own." Hermione smiled. "Dibs on being the librarian."

"Oh no. If you're planning to involve us with other people's fractious brats, you're going to be Headmistress. I'll teach History. If I make it as boring as Binns did, I'll have a nice quiet class full of surreptitious snoring." He kissed the top of her head then sighed. "Have you thought of names for our own offspring? Nine. Merlin save us."

"Two more than the Weasleys and they turned out fine." She winced at her sarcasm, Being philosophical would take some work.

"Opinions differ." Theo smirked. "If we have a girl, I'd like to name her after my mother. Your mother too. Karina Margaret." A clever little girl with her mother's determination and her father's discretion. "If we have another boy, we could do as Regulus would like. Uphold the Black tradition."

"No chance." Hermione was resolute. "I am not having a child called Serpens."


End file.
